


Marked

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan (Non-Canon AUs) [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angry Drunk, Drunkenness, Gen, grumpy Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Fenris is called in to help during Hawke’s stay at Skyhold - and he’s not happy about it. While wallowing in a bottle of Aggregio Pavali, Dorian tries to strike up a friendly conversation about his lyrium markings. It does not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this post.](http://geeky-jez.tumblr.com/post/109523225998/so-imagine-fenris-is-at-skyhold-for-reasons-and) I was then lured with the promise of cookies if I turned it into a fic. So here we are.

Fenris didn’t even know what he was doing there.

He had not heard a single word from Hawke since Kirkwall, nor did he seek contact. Their parting had not been on the best of terms. While he fought at her side to protect the mages from the Rite of Annulment, he did so only under a strained sense of loyalty to the woman. He could not comprehend why Mariah had chosen the course that she did; to support the mages was an injustice in itself. Orsino’s inevitable surrender to blood magic was proof enough of that. He should not have been surprised that she’d let her lover live, but the fact that she stayed with him, ran away with him, dedicated herself to protecting him – it was a step too far. Fenris wanted no part of it. Once the dust had settled, he left. Cut off all contact and tried to push the foolish woman from his mind. He followed his own pursuits, tracked and hunted the slavers drawn like vultures to the bloated and rotting corpse that was the southlands during this rebellion of Anders’ making. Anders  _and_  Hawke. The pair were in this together, whether Fenris liked it or not.

Yet all it took was a single letter from Varric and he came running to Skyhold like some obedient dog.

He did not understand the hold Mariah Hawke had on him and in no small way, he detested himself for it. Seeing her again did nothing to lessen this. Despite her pleasantries, her genuine desire to rekindle the friendship they had once shared, he could not let go of his distain. It colored the words shared between them and she had taken the hint, maintaining a comfortable distance. Even now, sitting in the tavern, Hawke occupied herself at a table in the back, deep in conversation with the elf who, by all accounts, was running this organization. Fenris brought the wine bottle to his lips once again, throwing more of the familiar, bitter liquid across his tongue, his eyes narrowing. He should not be surprised by Hawke’s interest in the woman. Another mage, one whose words concerning Circles and freedom and tyranny sounded sickeningly familiar to him. Mariah’s eyes lifted to meet his and he turned away, righting himself in front of the bar. He did not need to test the bottle in his hand to know he was nearing the bottom of it, the tips of his ears already feeling the well-known warmth of drunkenness. He began in the hopes that drink would soothe some of his aggravation, knowing that it was, in part, unwarranted. Every sip seemed to drive his irritation further and now he drank more out of spite than anything else.

“Ah, I see you’ve tucked into my supply of Aggregio Pavali.” Fenris fixed his glare on the man who slid into the seat beside him, the stranger smiling broadly. “I had that shipped in as a special request. Not that I mind sharing in the slightest. I find the southern wines to be so dry and unimaginative on the tongue, myself. It is good to indulge in the flavors of my homeland from time to time. My compliments to your tastes.”

Fenris said nothing, staring at him icily, noting the staff affixed to the man’s back. The stranger seemed only mildly put-off by the lack of a warm reception, putting out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Dorian Pavus, if I may be so bold as to introduce myself.”

“I did not say that you could.” Fenris muttered darkly, refusing the handshake. _Pavus._  The name sounded vaguely familiar. Not one of Danarius’s close associates, certainly, but not a name that was unknown to him.

Dorian smirked, mildly amused. “A bit prickly, I see. I’m afraid there is no need for a similar gesture on your behalf. I’m well aware of who you are – you must be this Fenris I keep hearing so much about. Your lyrium markings make you stand out quite exquisitely.”

“Is that so?” Fenris glowered, downing another angry swig of wine.

“You know, I am absolutely fascinated by the notion of bonding living flesh to lyrium. I had heard talk of someone toying with the idea, but thought it was simply a rumor. It would not have occurred to me to actually attempt such a thing, but the implications of its effects are quite enthralling.” Fenris did little more than grunt in response. “I have heard theories that lyrium is a living entity, rather than merely a mineral substance. A bit of a crackpot joke if you ask me, but intriguing nonetheless. Tell me, do you sense any form of consciousness in it, being so closely bonded as you are?”

“No.” The elf sneered.

“Interesting. It allows you to phase through objects at will, does it not?”

“Why so curious, mage?” Fenris snarled, his brow lowering. “Looking to recreate the process?”

“Oh Heavens, no.” Dorian said with a laugh. “I’d imagine it’s quite a ghastly ordeal. I view this with little more than an academic eye, I assure you. Since such a thing has already been bestowed upon you, seems a waste to not inquire, does it not?” Fenris turned his eyes forward, boring into the opposite wall with his glare. “As I was saying: the phasing ability. How much control do you have of it, precisely? I mean, is it your entire body that shifts in and out of solid form, or can you pinpoint it to a single limb?” He paused, continuing when it was clear he would not receive an answer. “I suppose it is through some unconscious manipulation of the Veil? Maybe through bending it around yourself… or perhaps rather than folding around, it too is embedded in your skin?”

He did not see the man move his hand until it made contact with his wrist, the lyrium lines singing into life, glowing brightly as he sprang to his feet, chairs knocked back, the wine bottle shattering as it hit the floor. He had Dorian by the throat, the man looking at him in wide-eyed surprise, the tavern growing dangerously still. “Touch me again and you’ll get a proper demonstration.”

“Touch burns. Hot and irritating, snaking under skin but cannot shed it.” Fenris’ eyes darted to the unfamiliar voice, finding a man sitting on the edge of the bar who he swore had not been there a second ago. “Memories fragmented. Forgetting did not help. Leto never liked to be touched.”

Fenris released Dorian, taking a broad step toward the pale-faced man in the tattered leathers. “What did you call me?”

He was not aware of Hawke’s approach until she stepped between them. “Alright, that’s my cue,” she said, catching him by the shoulders. “Settle down, Fenris. Let’s get you back to your room.”

He shrugged her hands away from him violently, staggering back with the force of the gesture. “I don’t need your coddling.” He snarled, unsteady on his feet as he jammed a finger hard against her chest. “You should not even be here, Hawke. Better you’re away to keep a leash on your abomination.”

She stared at him, letting out an unamused sigh before grabbing his wrist. The lyrium hummed but did not burn. It never did with her. “You know, I really missed how absolutely charming you are when you’re drunk.” She said sarcastically. He teetered but did not fight her as she slung his arm across her shoulders, her hand resting on the small of his back. “Come on, you ass.” She muttered, though there was no malice in it. Coming from her, it had the odd ring of endearment.

His stomach lurched as she dragged him toward the door, unwillingly steadied by her hold on him. “Fasta vass…” He grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah, I know.” She replied patiently.

**Author's Note:**

> I’d imagine that, given their political influence (and their general lack of support of blood magic) the Pavus family would have been spoken of in Danarius’ social circle - even if only to mock their political opponents. Fenris would not necessarily know or remember the nature of the association, however.


End file.
